The All Seeing Eye
by the wistful mouse
Summary: A series of one-shots I wrote ages ago, mainly about events which should/might have happened, or about the backgrounds to characters we don't know much about.
1. Zelda

_This is a one-shot (or rather, a linking series of them) which I made about Zelda and Manfred's relationship  
__It's set after Beth and Zelda get carried off by the bird Emma (though I can't remember which book that occured in)  
__I'm not very practised at romance and mushy stuff, but enjoy!_

* * *

Zelda groggily left the enveloping darkness that her mind had occupied for the last three days and gradually swam up to the suddenly terrifying lights and sounds of consciousness. She opened her eyes, and gasped with pain as her head suddenly felt like a nail had been hammered in, second by agonizing second.  
"Are you alright?" a highly familiar and comforting voice asked, threaded with worry, and she felt a hand clamp down protectively around her arm.  
"My head hurts!" she wined pitifully, turning to look at the boy sitting next to her. She felt the hand on her arm slink smoothly up to her bony shoulder, and continue up till it rested on her forehead.  
"That better?" he asked teasingly, smiling. She sighed and closed her eyes.  
"Yes" she breathed. She hadn't just been saying it; the pain had actually become almost bearable upon his touch, much to her great relief. She wondered idly whether maybe this was because of the peculiar heat that always seemed to radiate off his body, or whether it was simply his presence that brought her that wonderful feeling of serenity, but she did not like to dwell on reasons; she had far more important things to think about.  
Now she was able to think without her throbbing head stealing her every thought, she realised that, due to the lavish, old fashioned furniture and recognisable bright colour scheme, she must be in one of the Bloor's private rooms, though exactly which she had no idea. Excluding Manfred, she had been in more places behind that innocent-seeming door in the west wing than all of the students in the academy had put together, but even she hadn't seen all of them.  
She could have lain there forever, in the oasis of calm and quiet, but with her ability to think had came memories that had begun to creep into her mind like armies of unwelcome insects scurrying towards a nest.  
"What did they do to us?" she asked in wonder. Manfred's hand stiffened in anger and his voice went cold.  
"I don't know" He was silent in brooding thought for a few seconds, then his voice took on a vengeful tone "One thing I do know, though, is that they will certainly not get away with it"  
Zelda opened her eyes eagerly, knowing from Manfred's voice what she would see. She was not disappointed. His handsome face was lit up by the devious, crooked grin that she loved to see so much, and his coal black eyes glinted with the fresh sparkle of anticipation that they always wore when he was plotting something.  
"What?" he said, slightly self-consciously, as his smile faded.  
"You" she smirked gleefully, suddenly sitting up and winding her arms round his waist. He smiled and did the same, then leaned closer to her whispering  
"I won't let anyone hurt you ever again"

* * *

Zelda perched miserably on top of her suitcase, her hands under her chin. She knew that she should really get up, as her thighs were aching under the pressure of her sharp elbows, but she simply didn't have the energy. She sighed.  
"Well, doesn't someone look miserable" came a mocking voice from a considerable distance above her. She smiled for the first time that day, that week, even.  
"I didn't think you would come!" she cried happily, jumping up and hugging him. He stayed frozen.  
"So you're really leaving" Manfred murmured desolately, staring at the suitcase behind her.  
Zelda stepped back from him, still keeping her arms round his waist, her fingers securely linked, as if trying to lock herself in that position forever. She looked down guiltily.  
"Yes"  
"Why?"  
"Because I want to. I love maths, you know that. And taking this university course will get me closer to my dream"  
"So you care more for that than me?" he said bitterly, refusing to look at her. This was a very bad sign, she thought. Manfred always looked into people's eyes: it was a habit that came out of being a hypnotiser and severely enjoying it. He only ever didn't look at people when he was upset, and when he didn't want them to see that.  
"Of course not. I'll come back, I promise. And it'll be just like old times" Her voice brightened unconvincingly. Nothing they ever did could match the experiences they had had in 'old times': helping Asa scare the living daylights out of that infuriating, miserable excuse for a picture traveller in the ruins, capturing that idiotic boy, Henry…sure, they hadn't ended up well, but the pair had had the greatest fun in doing them.  
"No" she froze at the icy, emotionless chill behind his voice. She wondered if Manfred was thinking the same thing.  
"I…what – what do you mean?" she stammered, scarcely able to breathe. He finally turned his eyes towards her. They weren't the same intense, solemn eyes she knew and loved, they were scarily distant and surly.  
"I mean that maybe its best if we don't see each other again"  
"But – but – why? We can still –"  
"No" he repeated, then he reached back and slowly but firmly teased her fingers apart and pushed her hands back down by her sides.  
"Manfred. Manfred, you don't have to do this" she said, tears bestowing her sad blue eyes with a sorrowful shine. He took a deep breath.  
"Yes. Yes, I do."  
"But why?" she wailed, grabbing his hand with both of hers and interweaving their fingers, as if she could twine them together forever.  
"Because you're a weakness. I can't afford weaknesses"  
"This is your dad, isn't it? He's never liked me" she said sullenly, suddenly understanding.  
"He does like you, it's just that….it's our...relationship that he doesn't like"  
"Why?"  
"You know why. It gets in the way of everything"  
"But – but…"  
"But nothing. We knew this would happen. Just accept it and move on" He reached up with his free hand and gently wiped a tear from her wet cheek. Zelda sniffed, looking down at the floor.  
"I'm sorry. If this could be any other way, it would". The coldness slipped out of his voice and he was suddenly overridden with a desire. He – with some difficulty – untwisted his fingers from hers, cupped her face with his hands, gently lifting her head up, then kissed her like he never had before. Then his face twisted into austerity again, and her turned and quickly walked away, never looking back.

* * *

Zelda lay on her bed, bored. Although the challenging studies ensured her entertainment for hours, and her fellow students were both helpful and friendly despite the hostility she had initially shown them, Zelda was not enjoying herself. She missed being able to use her powers to thwart irritating do-gooders, and the thrill of creating new ways in which to do it. She missed being surrounded by people who felt exactly like her, and who understood the troubles that endowments brought. She missed the ancient building with its comforting shadows and lack of nauseatingly cheerful colours. But most of all she missed Manfred, whom she still felt a longing for even these long months after he had plunged his icy hand into her heart and dragged out every warm feeling, leaving an empty vortex in their place.  
She sighed sadly and brought her knees up so that they were in line with her chin, and wrapped her arms round her legs. She had so often found that doing this gave her comfort on those dark moments when she was reminded that she was never going to see his handsome face again…  
Suddenly there was an abrupt, metallic noise from behind her. It had been so quiet in her small, undecorated bedroom located at the top of the old, empty house that the unfamiliar noise made her jump, her telekinesis feeling a need to respond as well by causing the large pile of study books that were stacked precariously on top of her desk to crash to the floor. She rolled over and stretched her arm out to curl her fingers round a small object sat on her bed-side table.  
As she brought it closer to her, she realised that the noise had surprised her so much because she had never received a text message since she had left Bloors so had no idea that was what her tone sounded like. This was also the reason as to why she was so puzzled, because she only kept her mobile phone on so she wouldn't miss the infuriatingly frequent occasions that students in her class would call her to enquire about a certain question or other in their homework. In fact, Zelda only put up with them calling her because it meant that she could call them when she herself needed help: not that this was very often.  
Zelda flipped the phone open and brought it up to her face to see who had sent the message. The moment she had read it, she gasped and her dark blue eyes went wide in shock.  
"Manfred" she whispered. She could see that her thumb was shaking slightly as it moved over to press the button that would show her the message. It paused on its way. Did she want to see this message? What would he want from her? She considered just deleting the message but knew that she could never bring herself to do it. She stabbed the button, angry with herself that the thought had even crossed her mind.  
'Sorry. Go to the ruins at midnight. I'll be waiting'.  
For a few blissful seconds, Zelda simply stared at the screen, as if the words were lovingly written by angels themselves. In fact it was, as far as Zelda was concerned anyway. Then she pressed the phone to her chest and bit her lip excitedly, her eyes painted with the most gleeful shimmer that they had worn in a long time.

Zelda cautiously approached the entrance to the ruins that both she and Manfred had used the most often: a secret entrance that wasn't known to anyone but the Bloor family…and her. This fact had always made her glow with pride, as it still did now, bringing forth a slightly more healthy tone to her pale complexion. Her heart was racing but she could hardly breathe: never had she been so excited yet so nervous at the same time.  
Her footsteps slowed to a stop as she treaded towards the small stone archway, and she peered anxiously into the shadowy eeriness beyond. It would be just like him to leap out at her from no where with the intention of scaring her. He always had to feel like he had the advantage, no matter what the situation.  
She was just considering whether she dared go in while it was so dark and – although she would never admit it – scary, when a confident, quaint voice from behind her said "Hello".  
She jumped and instantaneously spun round to find herself only a few inches away from the boy who had broken her heart. As she searchingly looked up into his eyes, his arms suddenly whipped up and he gripped her elbows with his skeletal fingers.  
"Scared?" he asked, a flicker of tease in his voice despite the seriousness of his expression. Zelda savoured a moment gazing into his eyes, before shaking her head. Despite the air of confidence that eternally surrounded him, she could see that underneath he was nervous too.  
"But you've got to tell me – why am I here?" He looked away.  
"I…I…made…" He dropped his arms and sighed "I made a mistake, Zel. I thought I could do without you" Zelda smiled and relaxed in the reassurance that he wanted to see her for exactly the reason she had hoped he would. She knew he was telling the truth, for Manfred did not lightly admit to his mistakes, and thinking back to the text, he had even said that he was sorry, which was almost unheard of for him.  
"Oh!" She exclaimed, as she noticed something when he turned his gaze back to her. She reached up and gently stroked the faded scar that ran straight across his right cheek, ending just below his left eye. "What happened?" she gasped as she began to detect the numerous faint lines of other previous scars.  
"The cats" he murmured darkly, his voice threaded with bitterness and a hunger for revenge. She looked at him, eyes innocently wide, burning with questions, but she could see that they were questions he was not willing to answer. She directed her thoughts somewhere else instead.  
"Your father doesn't know I'm here, does he?" Manfred gave a mischievous smile and shook his head. She couldn't hold herself back anymore. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms round his skinny frame tightly, almost crying with happiness as he did the same.

* * *

_Even if you hated it, please review :)_


	2. Paton

_A look at Paton's past and how his life has been affected by his endowment_

* * *

Look, Mummy!" The small six-year old boy eagerly held out a piece of paper to the beautiful woman in front of him, who took it from him and quickly scanned the badly-coloured picture on the page. She couldn't exactly tell what it was, but that didn't matter to her. She loved every line, adored every curve, treasured every stroke, because it was her son who had drawn it.  
"Oh, Paton, it's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!" she exclaimed, hugging him. Paton's sister, Venetia, a surly teenager if there ever was one, walked behind her mother, peered at the picture and snorted.  
"I could do better than that when I was two with my hand tied behind my back!"  
"Venetia! Don't be so mean!" her mother scolded her, then looked kindly into Paton's eyes (from which tears had begun to drip) and put her arm round him, saying gently  
"Don't listen to what she says. You'll always be my clever little boy"  
"Whatever" Venetia sneered unkindly, trailing out of the room. Paton stared hard at the white flowery tablecloth, his brow furrowed in that typical about-to-explode-from-concentration way that little children seem to have to undertake when considering something.  
"Mummy, would Venny and the others like me better if I was special like her?" Paton stared up at her with wide, innocent eyes. She laughed.  
"Oh, Paton darling, you're so special already! You don't need to change a thing! Don't pay attention to what any of your sisters say!"  
At the last part, Solange's heart dropped a notch, though as usual it didn't taint the contented smile that she was never seen without. She loved her daughters, she really did, but she couldn't stand the way they acted so cruel to others. Her father had informed her of the fact that, like all ascendants of the Red King, their family were cursed with ever-changing standards of morals, but she still blamed herself. She was convinced that somehow she must have got something wrong, although she wasn't sure how.  
Anyhow, she was so glad that Paton seemed to have turned out so normally, that she almost wished that he wasn't endowed just so that he could hopefully escape the strange world in which her daughters thrived in. She also hoped he would be unendowed because that way he would avoid having to go to that awful Bloor's Academy. It was a good school, certainly, but she didn't think much of the people who ran it. Indeed, as much as they didn't think highly of the 'good' children like Paton: a fact which she was very much aware and afraid of.  
She drifted back to reality to see her son too deep in thought, as he often was. His scruffy black hair had fallen over one of his dark eyes, and the one that was still visible stared into thin air ponderingly as if he were gazing at a particularly difficult puzzle, which in his mind he probably was. Finally, he nodded and said  
"OK, mummy…I love you". She smiled widely.  
"I love you too, darling"  
Paton beamed. His mother's approval was all that mattered to him at that moment. It was exactly why he had spent a long and arduous time perfecting his picture of a spectacular red tree in the midst of a comparatively dull green forest.  
He had no idea why the image had come into his mind. He had just been sitting in front of the piece of paper, pencil at the ready, considering what to draw, when the image had suddenly thrust itself into his thoughts. Upon completion, he had also got the urge to draw a red cat peeping out protectively from behind the tree, of which he obliged to, although he had never been good at drawing cats, or anything else, for that matter: not that anyone but his sisters had the cold-heartedness to tell him that. And although everyone else told him not to listen to their criticisms, he couldn't help but begin to believe them.  
This was why he constantly wondered whether his parents would be prouder of him if he had a talent like his two older sisters, not having much to brag about himself except his exceptional knowledge, but that and his eagerness for more only gave the other children ammunition for their infantile, jealousy fuelled teasing.

So this explained why, at his seventh birthday, little Paton was ecstatic to find that he had a talent after all. He was disappointed to not have the desirable, useful talents he had heard about like shape shifting and hypnotism, but he was always one to make the best of every situation, and so he did.  
He had great fun getting back at the boys who teased him for his 'geekiness' at school by sprinkling their carefully gelled hairstyles with glass, and sniggering as they chose to avoid standing under lights from that point on. Of course, this type of behaviour did not do well for his social life, and he soon found that had he lost the few friends that he had, except for Melinda.  
Melinda was a small, pretty girl who both shared his profound interest in history and who, unlike the other children, found his talent fascinating.  
In fact later on in their lives when they had left for different high schools – him for Bloor's and her for an equally expensive private school with a uniform that's colour scheme always brought a grin to Paton's pale face – she had introduced him to her friend and his very first love, Emily. Melinda had not informed Emily of his talent, because she felt that a practical demonstration would make it more believable. Unfortunately for poor, heartbroken Paton, the demonstration which he had thought would be incredibly romantic on their two year anniversary proved all too believable for conventional Emily, who was so shaken at her first love's secret that she ran away and never wanted to speak to him again.

The ghosts of this memory slipped slowly and mournfully into Paton's mind thirty long years later, awakened by the ever-curious voice of his great-nephew, Charlie Bone, asking if he had ever done his little trick with lots of lights. He had always prided in how observant the young boy was, but for once he was glad there was something that night that Charlie did not notice. For hidden under the safe, familiar shadow of his fedora and tinted by the reflected light of millions of fragments of glass, a teardrop welled in Paton Yewbeam's eye for his loss; his curse; and the life he never had.


	3. Amoret

Hmm, this wasn't written well, but I like the story behind it...

* * *

Amoret and Otus gazed lovingly at each other. Yet something was wrong. There was too much sadness in the glimmer of her dark eyes, too much false hope in his. And there was desperation in the way that they clutched each other's hands, as if they were in the knowledge that the moment they let go they would lose each other forever. And as ridiculous as this sounded while they were in their cosy, warm kitchen, surrounded by the implements of a rich and happy life, there was some terrifying truth in this...  
"Oh, Otus, come _with _me!" Amoret begged her husband, binding her slim fingers tighter round his. She looked pleadingly into his eyes (quite a feat as she had to crane her neck quite a lot in order to meet his gaze).  
"I can't, my love, you know I can't" he said, trying to fight back his tears. He had to stay strong. As much as he wanted to go with her, to protect her, he knew that he had to stay behind to keep up the pretences that everything was normal, to ensure that his wife's true location remained hidden, if - when - Borlath's followers decided to come to pay a visit.  
Amoret opened her mouth as if to argue, but she knew that whatever she said would come to no use. She had to go to save herself and her child. He had to stay behind. Facts were facts, and they couldn't be changed.  
Instead she despairingly flung her arms around him and dug her beautiful yet tear-stained face into his chest. He wound his arms round her sympathetically, and they were so happy like this that both never wanted to let go, to face the uncertain danger of the world outside their bubble of contentment. But their bubble was obliterated by their son's sudden hurried footsteps flying into the room.  
"Mother, there is little time!" he announced, panicked. He was used to the numbness that his parent's love for each other could bring: it took them to a place with no people, no surroundings, no negative feelings, and most importantly, no time. Something of which, in reality, they were all running out of.  
"Uncle Petrello came. He said that Borlath's men are approaching - fast!" Although the start of his sentence had been said with the same security and happiness that always accompanied his favourite uncle's name, it ended with pure panic and fear as he mentioned his other, far less favourable uncle.  
"Yes...Yes, alright." Amoret muttered as she shook herself from her reverie and was flung back into the cruel enormity of reality. She stepped back from Otus, took one last longing look at him, then said  
"Come along, Roland" as she extended her hand towards him, smiling as bravely as she could.  
"No" Roland said, to his parent's great surprise. Firstly because he was such a quiet, obedient boy who very rarely went against his elder's wishes. But more obviously because of the actual, devastating connotation of his response.  
"What are you talking about? We have to go" Amoret said, her voice noticeably on the verge of breaking.  
"No. I'm staying here. With father. He needs me. You'll be fine with Uncle Amadis on your own"  
"Roland - no!" Otus commanded in a deep, resounding voice that Roland would have usually obeyed without further question. But not today.  
"I have to, father. You know I'm right" he retaliated calmly. His father was about to refuse him again, but all conversation was frozen by the recognisable sound of horse's hooves thudding upon the ground in the distance, disturbing the peaceful hush of the forest which bordered their castle, which Otus had built himself.  
"We don't have time. Roland - please" Amoret begged, fresh tears burning down her cheeks, as she clasped his hand.  
"No." He said. "I'm so sorry, mother. But this is the right thing to do, I know it" He said determinedly. She was about to protest when there was a terrifyingly overwhelming crash as the horses suddenly smashed their way through the trees that had before provided such a protective ring around their home.  
"My love, you must go now, before it is too late. Do not fear: I shall take good care of Roland. Trust me" Otus said, his eyes burning into hers. It broke his kindly heart to commit his own beloved son to an uncertain, perilous future, but it was either just his wife, or both of them, and he knew which he would choose every time. Amoret nodded. She hated this as much as he did, but she did trust him, with her life. With more than her life.  
And so it was that, with a heavy heart, she took her precious mirror in her hand, and, before she used it allowed herself one last glance at her family. A glance which tore a hole in her heart so torturously painful that she felt she would die and her head was only filled with the devastating whispers of tragedy. Because, at that glance, she knew that she would never see her family again…


	4. Monty Bone

_So I found two stories I wrote about Grizelda and Monty's relationship. This is the first, and I'll post the second at some point in my life. I personally don't like this story: my mind wandered and focussed too much on Monty's friend than himself. But anyway, I'd like to know what you guys think :)  
_

* * *

I waved goodbye to my father merrily. He merely acknowledged my existence with a very formal nod, then drove away in his posh and highly expensive car. It had been enough to persuade him to give me a lift so that I could meet up with my best friend Johnny, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he had only agreed because he knew that the visit would get me out of his way for a few heavenly hours - heavenly for the both of us. I hated how he resented me because I disappointed him. He expected me to follow into his footsteps, do what he did and as his father had done before him. But I didn't want to be a lawyer, plain and simple. I wanted to be free, free from his disapproving stare, free from the anchors of life, free from the depressing drone of the city. And the only place where I felt at peace with myself in this way was up, up above the clouds…  
Anyway, I spun round and began to make my way up the empty street to the most malevolent building I had ever had the misfortune to set eyes upon: Bloor's Academy. If I had the choice I would never have set foot near the place, but it was the only chance I had to see Johnny again before he set off back home for the weekend at his house several miles away - a journey which I knew without enquiry that my father wouldn't dare use a drop of his precious fuel on. So I had no choice but to meet him outside his school when they were all let out and we would walk down to the park together to talk of our lives (just like old times). Except now there was much more to talk about because of the largely increased gap of time in-between our meetings ever since Johnny had joined Bloor's.  
"Hey, Monty!" my head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice.  
"Johnny!" I cried, relishing the presence of the friendliest person I had spoken to all week.  
"Hey, mate! What took you so long?" He asked, not quite managing to hide the concern that hijacked his voice.  
"Oh you know, the usual. Me and my father arguing. Neither of us winning"  
"Oh" Johnny's voice fell, his pleasant mood dampened by his best friend's sadness. And as it did so, the numerous weeds that stubbornly and relentlessly sprouted from the academy's courtyard drooped and withered until they were nothing but brown vines that could have been mistaken for leaves that had had their intricate beauty cruelly taken by the bitter autumn weather. I smiled, and said  
"You're getting good at this" Johnny grinned ruthlessly back.  
"I know" and his blue, animated eyes took on a numb look of severe concentration as he glared at the plants, which slowly lifted and grew greener and fresher than ever before, as if painted by the boy's intense stare, though both Johnny and I knew that it was the natural sunny disposition of the boy that had been exaggerated by his unusual talent, then transformed into vibes which brought even the most doomed, water-deprived plant back to life again. Although I was proud of my friend for being able to control the talent which had so burdened him before, I also loathed it, like I had loathed it the moment that I had found out that it would tear my only and very best friend away mid-term to the depressing school that contained other such unusual individuals, instead of joining me in the cheerful, colour-splashed school of our choice.  
"Showing off your lickle trick, eh?" sneered a particularly malicious-sounding voice. Our eyes slid up from the floor to the girl standing in front of us. She looked about our age: sixteen, maybe seventeen, and she had raven black hair pulled back into a long plait that was swung over her shoulder and trailed off just below her chest. She grinned unpleasantly at Johnny, then looked surprised at the boy standing next to him.  
"Oh! And aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" she asked a touch more cheerfully than was natural for her. Johnny sighed, then grudgingly said  
"Grizelda, this is my friend, Monty Bone. Monty, this is...well, I think I've mentioned Grizelda Yewbeam to you..." he smiled knowingly at me. He had mentioned her, all right. He was always speaking of how she was forever the ringleader in helping the 'bad' endowed children with their plots and schemes. It also couldn't escape my notice that a smile puckered her mouth as soon as the words had been said; as if she were pleased by the fact that she had been Johnny's subject of conversation with his most trusted friend. And how I noticed this smile was that, despite the fact that the distaste Johnny had for the girl was extremely obvious in the way he acted around her – never mind his spiteful descriptions and accounts of her wrong-doings – I found that I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She was like a magnet, and I anxiously began to wonder whether what Johnny had said was true: that she wasn't endowed. Surely no normal person could have such an alluring effect on me? And so this was why I suddenly blurted out without thinking:  
"You aren't endowed, are you?" The girl seemed rather shocked at my rudeness and forthrightness, but quickly recovered her composure and huffily answered my question with a curt 'no'. My head in more of a riddle than before and now lost for words in the presence of such an overpowering figure, I simply gave a faint "Oh", still unable to tear my eyes away from her face, yet wishing I could benefit from Johnny's friendly, uplifting grin and sparkling eyes, which had always before managed to drag me out of my sorrows and pull me into the refreshing warmth of contentedness. It surprised me how, even when her face was the picture of perfect contempt, it was still so very beautiful...


	5. Grizelda

_Part 2 of Grizelda and Monty. It's rather depressing..._

* * *

"Hello" said a quaint voice from high above. Grizelda looked up from reading the newspaper in her favourite rocking chair. She had always loved rocking chairs: how their gentle movement could calm any soul, and how the numbing squeak as it rubbed against the floor drowned out the whispers of past troubles. But no rocking chair could sooth her troubles at this present time, as she was highly concerned: more concerned than she had ever been in her entire life. But these all washed away like a paper doll in a mighty flood when she locked eyes with the man standing next to her.  
"Monty" she breathed, dropping the newspaper to her lap in astonishment and forcing the rocking chair to come to an abrupt stop mid-rock. She leaped up and wrapped her arms round his slim yet muscular body, gazed into his eyes for a second that seemed to last an eternity, then dropped her head to his chest, sighing "I thought I'd never see you again" He chuckled and, stroking her long, black hair, said "I thought the same thing"  
"But...but...what happened? They told me...they told me you were dead, engine troubles..." her voice trailed away as she remembered that terrible moment when she had received the dreaded phone call, as she remembered how she felt: like her heart had been torn out of her chest and hurled into the shadows, never to be seen again, as she remembered how her beloved aunt had simply shrugged her shoulders and said 'These things happen' upon hearing the news from her tearful and distressed niece.  
"Enough of that. All you need to know is that I'm back and I'm never leaving you again" Monty said, his voice so assertive that she lifted her head and said  
"Really?"  
"Well, obviously I have to go back to the airport tomorrow and-"  
"NO!" Grizelda screamed. "You are never going back on a plane after what you put me through!"  
"But Grizelda, flying is my life, my passion. I can't give it up just because of a slight hiccup in technical - " Grizelda stepped away from him, her eyes now burning with an anger that had so quickly bubbled its way through her body; killing her relief, scorching her happiness.  
"You care more about being a pilot than me? Than your only son?" the words were spat out, firing like darts right into Monty's heart.  
"Of course not, but-" he argued, completely blown away and shocked at the accusation.  
"But nothing! You either give up flying or we're finished, Monty Bone," then she added darkly "You can be sure of that!"

A month later, the plane that Monty Bone had been piloting crashed due to mysterious circumstances. Only this time when she heard the news, Grizelda Bone was not as surprised or sad as she was the last time. Last time she was devastated, but a slight glimmer of hope brightened the darkness that enclosed her. And that hope had pulled her through her depression, and had kept her going until it was no longer needed: until that wonderful yet heartbreaking day when her husband had come home.  
But this time, there was no hope. There was no light. Because she knew it was the end. Lucretia, her sister, had come round to tell her the news. She had the largest smile her face had worn in a long time, and her closing words to an unspeaking Grizelda were: "No one treats a Yewbeam like that, sister. No one." She grinned wickedly, then slowly closed the door with an eerie creak. There had been no lights on inside the house, as the warmth of the summer sunshine had swept through the large windows and brightened the rooms with its radiant light. But all of a sudden, the house went very dark. And silent. And still. And Grizelda hated it. She couldn't allow herself to think, she mustn't.  
She stormed over to her rocking chair, flung herself down and rocked furiously. But even the rocking which had been so therapeutic before didn't help numb the turmoil in her head. Thoughts swirled round in a great hurricane of emotion whilst the rocking chair continued its mournful sound: I never expected them to do it so soon! Creak, creak. I should never have let it happen! Creak, creak. But he deserved it, that's what auntie says...Creak, creak. He didn't mean anything to me: he wasn't even endowed! Creak, creak. But I loved him...Creak, creak. Did I? Creak, creak. STOP BEING SO WEAK! Creak, creak. I don't think I'll ever stop missing him…missing him…missing him…


	6. Bindi

******This is the last in my collection of imaginings of characters/moments we didn't see, since these were all the stories I had floating round from when I wrote them years ago, and I won't be writing any more since I have a new book obsession now (read 'The Hunger Games' and you will understand). Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and favourited this, it means a lot :)**

**I wasn't originally going to post this one, because I found it to be needlessly dark and not of a very good quality, but I decided I may as well. This is what happened to Bindi (remember her?) after she left Bloors, because I liked the idea that she one day did develop a power and had adventures like the others do. I think she now lives in the US, because I chose what I felt to be quite typical American names for the OCs. **

* * *

An unusually small girl sat slumped against the hard, undecorated concrete wall of her basement, her gaunt, pretty face betraying her misery. Her dark eyes drooped as if she were about to fall asleep. This conception was right, on one level, for she was tired. Tired of the disappointment that had promptly followed after so long awaiting the unlocked mystery of her talent, tired of ceaselessly having to control herself, tired of wishing she had relished her freedom-days more before she had been forever cursed with this so-called 'gift'. She was just so tired…

"Bindi!" a contented, homely voice shouted. Bindi sighed heavily. One other culprit of her weariness came from the pretence that the sensitive side of her nature forced her to keep up to her mother, that everything was fine. She loved her mum dearly, thus she wanted to shield her from the danger and tribulations that came with having an endowment.

Bindi enjoyed acting, she really did. That was why she had chosen to do drama at Bloor's and at the new acadamy she now attended after discovering her endowment, even though she would never quite be as good as the other children, whose lives consisted of nothing but learning lines, singing loudly and just generally being overdramatic. But when acting became no longer a choice, a pastime, and it was used to protect rather than to entertain, it developed into a lie, a sham, a shameful deceit.

She listlessly stood up, using the wall for support, and slowly shuffled over to the door. It was only then that she realised how late it was and how many hours she had been in there, despondently brooding about her new-found 'talent'. The realisation came from how the before bright daytime sunlight pouring in from the window had dimmed to the darkness of night, so completely that she could barely make out the door handle.

Squinting in the darkness, she failed to notice one of many boxes in that room that rested peacefully next to her feet, and promptly walked into it, taking her completely by surprise and knocking her off-balance. As she fell to the floor, a flickering yellow ball erupted from each hand, the abundant yet tiny forks of electricity that they consisted of leaping out and binding themselves urgently around her thin wrist as if they were being finally released from a torturous prison of isolation and were desperate for human touch. So hungry that they would hug a murderer if they were the person closest to hand, and never let go...

Bindi's friend, Chelsea, had a theory about this. She believed that, because endowments generally seem to reflect how the perpetrator is feeling through their disposition, Bindi's endowment was revealing her true thoughts; the ones that stay locked up in your head and are never known by anyone, not even yourself, yet are always there, engraved in your heart.

There was a thump as Bindi crashed to the floor, though being rather light due to her size, the noise wasn't as strident as it probably should have been. She sat upright and stared, completely focused, at her hands for what seemed an eternity, her usually warm, friendly brown eyes taking on a burning intensity that seemed highly unnatural and slightly scary. Eventually the electricity lost its child-like energy and died down to a few rogue sparks that leaped from hand to hand before bouncing off into the shadowy corners of the room.

She knew that she had been lucky that the old wooden floor hadn't set alight. It had happened once before, when she had just turned twelve and was beginning to discover her 'talent'. The grass of the park she had been so blissfully relaxing in with her friends had surrendered to the intensity of the heat that the sparks created and were soon choking under a (luckily) hastily put-out fire.

"BINDI!" the voice came again, louder and more insistent this time. Bindi sighed and got up once again, even more tired by the repetition of the action and typical yet annoying and embarrassing reaction to surprise that had overcome her just a few minutes ago.

She made her way to the door, this time carefully inspecting the floor before she placed her diminutive feet into the space before her. Her mother, and presumably her tea and her normal façade life, was waiting…

...

A week later, Bindi found herself sitting in the same place, in the same depressive mood. As soon as she had got home from an arduous week of school, she had plugged herself into what Chelsea disdainfully called 'emo' music at the highest volume her I-pod went to. It wasn't loud enough for her. It wasn't loud enough to drown out the murmurs of sadness and, occasionally, the faint crackle of angry sparks that irately shot out of her hands.

No, the music was not nearly loud enough. But it was deafening enough that she could not hear the door eerily creak open a few metres to the side of her, and the pad of footsteps, slowly but surely making their way towards the unsuspecting girl sitting in the dark with her eyes closed. They rung out like gunshots round the still, virtually silent room, and were only accompanied by the hum of expressive screeching and erratic bass guitars fighting their way through Bindi's headphones and enclosing her in an emotional, reclusive bubble: exactly the effect she had been aiming for. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone to wallow in her unhappiness...

The footsteps abruptly stopped and a hand clamped down on her shoulder, making Bindi jump in surprise and triggering a bright flash of light to explode from her hands.

"OW!" Bindi heard a pain-filled wail as she pulled her headphones out. She looked up to see Chelsea holding her foot, which had several white hot, blue sparks on it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Bindi pleaded miserably, quickly brushing them off. Chelsea, still nursing her foot, which felt like it had been mercilessly stabbed by several hot needles, gazed round the dark, empty room and cried

"What is your problem?", staring incomprehensively at her friend. Bindi's deep, sorrowful eyes slid down to the assorted knots and lines carved into the wooden floor, every one of which she knew by heart after her seemingly length-less hours in that same room.

"Everyone I touch I electrocute. Every time I'm happy I shoot sparks. Every time I'm sad or angry or confused or surprised…" her voice trailed off into a defeated sigh as she gazed at her hands, which were layered in an intricate pattern of yellow electricity, writhing round the barely distinguishable blue bolts on her palms, which seemed to only choose to make their appearance when they felt a human touch. The glow gave her beautiful mahogany skin an unhealthy and unearthly yellow tinge.

"You'll learn to control it" said Chelsea comfortingly, sitting down beside her.

"No. No I can't. I've been trying, and trying, and I just can't!" her voice turned from the monotone drone she had become accustomed to speaking in recently to a plaintive wail at the last few words.

"I know this is hard, but it will get –"

"How do you know? All you do is breathe underwater!" Bindi exploded. "Oh, how hard for you! How you must understand how hard it is to try to control an incontrollable endowment!" She snarled sarcastically, then got up and walked away towards the door in disgust.

"Nothing is uncontrollable" Chelsea muttered in a way that was so deep and mysterious that Bindi stopped in her tracks and turned to look with blazing eyes at her only friend, instead of just ignoring her like she usually did.

"So you say. But you know what, Chels? You think you know it all, but you don't know anything! You're the most stupid girl I've ever had the misfortune to meet!" then walked off, leaving Chelsea staring despondently at the empty space where Bindi had previously occupied, marveling sadly at how Bindi had changed.

...

Bindi walked to school with a particularly dark, sinking feeling. Ever since last month when the excitement of her new-found endowment began to dwindle to annoyance, her social skills had deteriorated until even the best of her numerous friends had deserted her, having given up trying to help what clearly to them was a lost cause.

The only person who had stayed true to her was Chelsea, one of the eight endowed children who had been invited to study at the academy. She had walked beside her on her rambles of solitude round the grounds, chatted to her companionably (compensating for the severe lack of reaction from the other side of the conversation by talking excessively animatedly), when she could see all too clearly from Bindi's face that she really just wanted to be alone to wallow in silence, and was so detached from ordinary life that most of the time she had no idea what the other girl was on about.

And now Bindi had surely lost her only friend, her only lifeline to reality, through her harsh words.  
She sighed as she trudged through the gates, surrounded by excited children greeting each other then instantly launching into lively gossip about their weekend. But no one greeted her. Not since she had been immersed in the same bubble of seclusion that she had locked herself in for the past few weeks. No, she thought bitterly, it wasn't herself who had locked her in, it was her endowment; her supposed 'gift'.

"Bindi!" came an urgent, relieved voice. It occurred to Bindi that the voice was familiar, though she couldn't think why. She had been having great trouble remembering faces, voices and even names of people who had seemed so unforgettable to her before. Before…she reminisced pensively.  
A vaguely recognisable boy suddenly darted in front of her.

"Thank goodness I found you! Do you know where Chelsea is?" Of course, she thought sullenly as she shook her head in reply. No one ever wanted to talk to her, and if they did it was always about someone else. Someone who mattered.

He groaned, looking round agitatedly. "We need her" He looked round for Chelsea again then grabbed Bindi's arm as she began to slip away."You too" he added.

"Me?" She asked, confused. The dreaded sparks began to spit from her hands, betraying her anxiety. The boy barely noticed. He looked at her with his deep, serious green eyes and said

"We need all the endowed. Well, the good ones, anyway." he lowered his voice "The problem has got worse"

"What problem?" She suddenly remembered who this strange boy was. He was Aaron, one of the endowed. His talent was amazing…

He sighed irritably, realising that Bindi had been so wrapped up in her own problems lately she had no idea what had been going on, and he was not looking forward to the long explanation that would be required.

"Tyler let the Nothing out of 'The Neverending Story'. You remember his endowment, right?" She did. It was something she had always thought of longingly, wishing that she could be able to do something like that. How incredible would that be, she thought, to be able to lift words from a page and thread them into a living, breathing version of what they had been describing...

"Oh" was all she could reply.

"Miss Storm thinks we can stop him with Tolemeo's Feather, but it'll need all four of us to muster enough power for it to work"

"Oh" she breathed again. After so much time trapped in a vortex of her own troubles, consequently doing the same mundane things everyday and averting herself from any engaging goings-on, all this sudden action rather overwhelmed her.

"She'll probably be in one of the Art rooms, drawing or something. Come with me" Aaron said, heading quickly for the large double doors that marked the entrance to the large, imposing building, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along with him to the beginning of an uncertain adventure…

* * *

**The 'emo music' reference was the result of being an MCR fan in a pop obsessed world, so I didn't mean to cast a negative portrayal of this type of music, I just had a problem with other's perception of it. Rock on :)**


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